


You See the Leaving, I See the Coming Back

by nutmeag83



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: And its inhabitant, Friends to Lovers, John Watson misses Baker Street, M/M, Moving In Together, Parentlock, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:14:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22316158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nutmeag83/pseuds/nutmeag83
Summary: John is miserable and lonely out in the suburbs in the place he once shared with Mary. He slowly begins spending more time at Baker Street to see how it would feel to move back.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 34
Kudos: 271
Collections: BBC "Sherlock" for Canon Addicts





	You See the Leaving, I See the Coming Back

**Author's Note:**

> I found this in my writing folder and completely forgot I'd written it (apparently 1 year and 11 days ago, by the timestamp on the file). I figured I'd bang out the last few paragraphs, call it finished, and post it. My abandoned fics folder is already too full, let's not add another to it. 
> 
> Not beta'd or Brit-picked. It's 2:45am and who knows what time I originally wrote the thing at (oh, the properties say 23:29, so not exactly early in the day when my brain is still working ...). Hope it's readable!
> 
> P.S. I found this when writing a new Good Omens fic tonight. If you're subscribing to me because I've been writing fics in that fandom, I will be back soon with human AU about Instagram.
> 
> Happy reading.

John is tired. Rosie has been crying for hours—teething again—but that’s just the straw the breaks the camel’s back. In truth, John has been tired for months, since the aquarium, no, since his lying wife shot his best friend—she, pregnant and unapologetic, he, being the helpful and loving person John hadn’t realized for too long that he was.

His life has been a mess for too long too, since Sherlock died and took that life right out of John. That’s where it went wrong, John thinks. If Sherlock had trusted him, had believed John could be more than a pawn in a psychopath’s game, things would have ended differently. But the past is the past, and John is sick of living in it. They are different men now—Sherlock is loving and emotional, John is a father, part-time GP, and part-time whatever to Sherlock. And he’s tired. So tired.

And so he ends up at the newly renovated Baker Street—Rosie clutched in one arm, overnight bag in the other—unsure if he’ll be welcomed, but hopeful none-the-less. Sherlock has always welcomed them before. John hopes he hasn’t imagined that Sherlock is more than welcoming, actually; he hopes Sherlock is happy they are there.

Sherlock takes one look at the metaphorical bags under John’s eyes and literal bag on his arm, gives a firm nod, and plucks Rosie from her father’s drooping arms. “Go lie down,” he commands. “Young Watson and I will entertain ourselves for a few hours. Isn’t that right, Ro-Ro?”

The name, and the attention, that Sherlock has given to John’s pride and joy had been a surprise when it first came about. Sherlock isn’t exactly the nickname-giving, or child-rearing, type. It hadn’t been easy, at first. Sherlock had kept his distance, eyeing Rosie with same interest he gave to a puzzling, but ultimately five-or-below, case. He wanted to figure her out, but assumed she’d be like too many others—dull and not worth his effort.

The change happened after Mary died, after the drugs had been flushed from his system. On that day—they day they had forgiven each other, the day they’d finally really seen each other, the day John finally got to touch Sherlock, to hold him close and breathe him in—Sherlock said he wanted to see Rosie, and John had believed him. A week later, John and Rosie had arrived at Baker Street to a tidied flat and a box of toys (educational aids, Sherlock had insisted). The nickname had appeared not long after, John’s only hint of why coming from a muttered “Your father gets seniority on the Watson moniker, so it’ll have to be something else for you” from Sherlock to Rosie.

It took a while, but John finally sussed out the change in Sherlock. It was guilt, it had to be. Too many times, Sherlock had insisted he owed a debt to Mary. Rosie might have lost a mother, but that didn’t mean she had to be left with a single parent. Molly began dropping by John’s flat more often, and Mrs. Hudson would call, insisting on visits from the Watsons (which often led to visits with Sherlock, of course). John knew those too were due to Sherlock’s influence.

His own time spent with Rosie started out educational, with Sherlock insisting that a genius and a rather intelligent doctor (“Thanks, Sherlock”) must have produced a very bright, if not gifted, child. Those soon devolved into playdates, with Sherlock whisking Rosie away as soon as they’d arrived at Mrs. Hudson’s for tea. John would arrive upstairs an hour later to a giggling Sherlock and Rosie, or a napping Sherlock and Rosie, or a violin-playing Sherlock and a dancing Rosie.

It’s … more than he’d ever dreamed of. Mary had been her mother, and she’d never been cold or unfeeling toward Rosie, but she’d never been as vivacious with her daughter as Sherlock is towards his goddaughter. And John doesn’t blame Mary for her behavior. The first few months after birth are hard on a new parent. They’d both been exhausted most of the time. And Mary had worries about her past catching up with her on top of that. So maybe, given time, Mary would have shown as much joie de vivre in having Rosie around as Sherlock shows. Or maybe, this is something only a part-time uncle-like figure could feel for a child. He can give her back at the end of the day, after all. John certainly spends most of his time feeling like he’s been hit by a wrecking ball, no matter how much love and pride he feels for his daughter. Really, it’s apples to oranges and completely unfair to force a comparison.

Still, when he’s at the end of his tether, he has no other thought than seeking out his best friend. He’s held off for far too long, not wanting to be weak, not wanting to burden Sherlock. Sherlock didn’t sign up to be a parent, John had. Well. Sort of.

And in the end, John doesn’t have to ask. Sherlock just knows, after a single survey of John’s person.

When John awakes from his nap a few hours later, it’s to the gentle strains of Sherlock’s violin. The pack ‘n play has been set up in the middle of the sitting room. Rosie is still awake, but no longer crying. Instead she’s gumming what turns out to be a teething ring that John knows he didn’t pack. Her eyes drift shut from time to time, but she’s fighting sleep.

Sherlock turns away from the window and keeps playing as he asks, “Better?”

John smiles. “Much.” He scratches the back of his neck. “And… thank you. I’m sorry for just passing her over and hiding, but–”

Sherlock frowns. “You’re a single parent. You shouldn’t be doing this on your own. I am her godfather, and as I won’t be seeing to her religious education, then I must help out in other ways.”

It’s just like with the wedding. Sherlock feels responsible, for some reason, for making sure John has the best, that Sherlock expends every iota of energy making sure everything is done to perfection. In his more optimistic moments, John hopes that it’s because Sherlock is trying to prove his worth as a mate or, at the very least, pouring every ounce of love into the person he cares for most. When he’s feeling a bit more jaded, he’s certain that Sherlock just doesn’t understand how to be a best friend, so he’s read up on the how-tos of friendship and has decided to follow them all, and as a perfectionist, do the job far better than any other human ever has done. And, when John is really down in the dumps, he thinks Sherlock just feels guilty and is trying to make up for it. Really, the reasoning doesn’t matter. All three possibilities are proof that Sherlock loves, in his own way, and John can’t be upset over that.

Sherlock plays until long past when Rosie finally drifts off. John cooks supper to some classical piece he’s always loved but never asked the name of. They eat dinner, then settle in for a quiet evening. It’s very … domestic. It’s been so long since John has spent a relaxing evening with another adult that it almost feels wrong. If he does happen to be away from home of an evening, it’s usually mired in a case or running errands. But this is just a normal evening, the kind couples have. It’s too close to what John wants these days. He’d chafed at having this before, had been an utter prick by trying to run away from it by having the beginnings of an affair, so he’s not sure what to think. Does he want this just because it’s different from the draining pattern his life currently contains, or is it that it’s Sherlock? Did his being married to a secret assassin who almost killed the person he actually cares for most play a part?

Therapy and far too many evenings alone with only his own mind to entertain him have forced him to admit his feelings for Sherlock, so he knows the love part won’t be a problem. But what about the domestic bits, the everyday? They wouldn’t be able to have late-night chases and adrenalin-fueled cases, so it wouldn’t be like before. Could he handle that? Or is it better for him to suffer alone in the suburbs, and not let things sour between him and Sherlock when the domestic life keeps them from what they need to feel alive?

He thinks about it all the next day at work and that evening as he sits alone in his too quiet, too clean flat. He thinks about it the day after and the day after, home alone again, with no cases to pull him back to where he would much rather be.

On the third day, with no work and no case to occupy his time, John decides “fuck it,” packs up a nappy bag and a change of clothes, and heads to Baker Street. Sherlock appears at the top of the stairs, still in his pajamas and his hair a fuzzy halo from sleep. He frowns and cocks his head.

“Is Rosie ill?” he asks with a frown. He takes a babbling Rosie from John and feels her forehead.

“Should she be?” John asks with eyebrows raised as they enter the flat.

Sherlock turns around to face John. “You don’t have a tea date with Mrs. Hudson.”

“Nooo,” John replies to the non-sequitur. He’s not sure what Sherlock is getting at.

“We haven’t a case on.”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“But you’re here.”

It hits John then, the reason for Sherlock’s confusion. Except for the first time John had brought Rosie over after Sherlock expressed interest in seeing her, and his visit the week ago, every time they’ve come has been for a reason. Sometimes it is just a chance for the three of them to hang out, but those have always been scheduled in advance. John doesn’t just show up, out of the blue, unless he needs Sherlock for a reason. Of course, in John’s mind, needing Sherlock is reason enough. He misses his friend, and so he comes. That’s not exactly something he can admit to, them being middle-aged (well, not quite, but close enough) British men, so he just shrugs.

“I was bored.”

Sherlock nods, but he still looks a bit confused. He adjusts, though, and the day is spent happily. They stay the night, and Sherlock doesn’t question it. John feels the same contentedness and peace he did last time they stayed over.

After that, John decides to make an experiment of it, though he doesn’t tell Sherlock this. He needs to know. Is it specifically domesticity with Sherlock that makes him happy, or just a change in routine? It starts off being once a week. John will show up with a baby, a bag, and a day off, and he lets things just happen. Sometimes Sherlock’s gone for half the day, doing whatever he does to occupy his time, not realizing John and Rosie are at Baker Street until he returns. Sometimes the three spend the whole day together. Sometimes a client appears, and they’re rushed off on an investigation after scrambling for a sitter. Sometimes they do tea or lunch with Mrs. Hudson, sometimes they take walks in the park. Sometimes John appears at the flat exhausted after a night spent awake with Rosie, so he spends the day recovering while Sherlock and Rosie entertain themselves.

After a few weeks, they begin spending two nights a week at Baker Street. Toys have migrated from Chiswick to Baker Street, as have clothes. The flat is always clean now, but just as warm and homey as it’s always felt to John. John thinks he sees sadness on Sherlock when they leave the flat and happiness when they arrive, but he’s still not great at reading his friend. It could just be that Sherlock’s as lonely and bored as John is, nothing more.

Sherlock has several files on his laptop dedicated to Rosie’s physical and mental development—charts with information from check-ups, lists of what she should be doing at a certain age, tests to give her. If John didn’t know better, he’d think Rosie was merely an experiment, a new puzzle that had caught his genius’s interest, but he’s seen the way he behaves around his daughter. There is pride when she learns new things and happiness when she reaches new milestones. Sherlock loves Rosie, and John’s never been happier.

He thinks about asking, to move back to Baker Street that is. Empirically, evidence says Sherlock will acquiesce, even be happy about it. He never seems upset to have them around, rarely becomes impatient with having a child in the house, seems happy so often these days. Still, John worries. This is still a part-time thing for them, this living at Baker Street. What if they move in, and two months later, John is itching for something new? Or worse. What if the move makes John happy, but Sherlock dislikes it? He can’t want a child around all the time, can he? He can’t enjoy being stifled from taking interesting cases because there’s a child back home to worry about.

Then there are the more practical issues. John and Rosie sharing a room is fine a couple nights a week, especially while Rosie is still so young. If they moved back, for good, they’d need more space. Space that the flat doesn’t have. So really, even if there was no worry of anyone feeling stifled, it still wouldn’t work. 221B Baker Street just isn’t enough for two men and a child. Even though nowhere has felt like home to John since he was a kid. Chiswick included.

It’s getting harder to deal face the space issue, though. Three months in, and John and Rosie spend more time at Baker Street than they do in Chiswick. John’s wardrobe at the flat is full again, toys have ended up in places outside of the sitting room (John once found a stuffed animal in one of the kitchen cabinets and has no idea how it got there), the refrigerator is full of veg instead of body parts.

It’s another quiet evening in. They’d spent the day (all three) investigating a jewel robbery. Rosie drops off during her dinner and sleeps through her bath. Sherlock orders take-away while John takes care of Rosie, and now they sit on the sofa watching a nature program neither is paying attention to—John is stitching a tear in Rosie’s favorite toy while Sherlock reads up on leptospirosis (who knows why).

John is complaining about not having the correct color of thread when Sherlock slams his laptop shut. “Why don’t you just move in for real? Then you’d have whatever color of thread you’d need at your disposal!”

The vehemence and frustration in Sherlock’s voice make John pause. He doesn’t seem particularly happy with the suggestion, despite having been the one to voice it. John puts the pink stuffed elephant (now with electric blue stitching on a hind leg) down and turns to look at his best friend. He thinks about what to say.

“Do you not want us here?” he finally asks, trying not to let despair fill him. He’s been happy here, and he thought Sherlock was happy with the arrangement as well. The frown on his face says otherwise though.

“Did I say I didn’t want you here?”

“No. But your body language and tone of voice don’t seem terribly happy at the idea of us moving in.”

Sherlock rubs his fingers over his eyebrows and sighs. “No, that’s not– I just–” He sighs again. His arm drops back down, and he looks at John. “You keep leaving.”

The words startle John. “It’s funny…” he begins slowly, “how one event can be seen in different ways.”

Sherlock cocks his head, but the frown of frustration melts from his face. “What do you mean?”

“You see the leaving. I see the coming back.” It’s not necessarily an admission, but he’s laying more cards on the table than he has up to this point.

Sherlock’s brow furrows a moment, but slowly, John’s meaning dawns. Before he speaks, the frown returns to his face. He doesn’t just look frustrated, though, he looks vulnerable. “Then why won’t you stay for good?”

Hope makes John’s heart beat in double time. Even though Sherlock may not have realized John’s overnight stays are an experiment, he’s been gathering evidence as well. He’s had three months to decide whether he could live with a father and daughter full-time in his home, and he’s apparently decided he can.

The “yes” leaves John’s lips, but he has no air to fully push the word out. He clears his throat, nods, and tries again. “Yes, we– we’ll move back–” but the air leaves his sails before he can finish. Space. There’s not enough. “There’s not enough.”

“What?”

“Space. There’s not enough space. Rosie and I can’t share a bedroom forever.”

“Forever?”

The word is small. Small but hopeful.

John nods. “If you don’t mi–”

“I don’t. It’s fine. It’s good. Very good.”

“Yes, very good.”

It’s Sherlock’s turn to nod.

A half thought slips past John’s lips before he can wrangle it. “Or I could–” He stops it so suddenly his teeth click.

Has Sherlock inched closer? John can feel his warmth through their layers of clothes and the small amount of air between their two bodies.

“You could?” Sherlock breathes.

Maybe it’s John who is closing the gap. He closes his eyes and forces the words out this time. “Kiss you?”

There’s a tiny gasp, and then “Would it help with Rosie’s need for a room?” Tiny puffs of air on his cheek.

“Yeah, I think so.” The words are soft, but loud enough to be heard in their cocoon for two. His nose brushes warm skin.

“Well, for the good of Rosie.” Sherlock inhales.

“She’s worth it.” John’s lips tingle at the nearness.

“I couldn’t agree more.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. 
> 
> You can come babble excitedly at me on Tumblr [@vateacancameos](http://vateacancameos.tumblr.com/).


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